The Devil's Hand Page 2

  “Hey Susan,” I whisper, leaning down and nudging her shoulder. Susan always sleeps deep, so she always has to be roused with a little more effort. “Wake up! Susan!”

  “What?” I can't see her, but I hear her bed-springs creaking slightly and her sheets rustling as she rolls to look up at me.

  “We're meeting in the courtyard next to the rose garden,” I tell her, “at midnight.”

  “No we're not,” she replies. “Mary says we're meeting by the lake.”

  “The lake?” I frown. “No, ignore that, it's a wretched idea. Be at the rose garden courtyard at midnight.”

  “But -”

  “Be there!”

  I wait for a reply. “I'm going to the lake,” she says finally. “Emily says she read a book once about these things, and she says we should be next to a body of water when we do it.”

  “That's stupid,” I point out. “We're meeting by the rose garden so we can go to the old oak tree, because that's hallowed ground. The lake isn't hallowed ground, remember.”

  “But Emily says -”

  “Emily doesn't know what she's talking about,” I hiss. “Come on, don't make me explain it. Just trust me, I'm right about this! Be at the rose garden at midnight!”

  “Aye, maybe,” she replies. “I'll think about it.”

  “Don't think about it,” I whisper, tapping her shoulder. “Be there!”

  Making my way around her bed, I have to stop for a moment as I feel a twinge of pain in my back. I reach down and put a hand on my belly, and I swear it feels more swollen than ever. My knees are a nuisance, too. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that a sliver of moonlight has made it through one of the blacked-out windows, allowing me to spot a few of the other girls on their backs in their beds, their bellies swollen to varying degrees like the domes of a bunch of cathedrals, all arranged in a row. Turning again, I make my way to the next bed and kneel down before nudging Prudence's shoulder.

  “Are you awake?” I whisper.

  “Yes, I'm awake,” she replies bad-temperedly, “but I shouldn't be and neither should you. What if Mrs. Kilmartin hears something and catches us? Do you want to end up hauled before Kane in the morning?”

  “Kane never leaves his room after nine,” I remind her, “and old Kilmartin hits the brandy right after. She could sleep through a hurricane once she's had a snifter or two.”

  “What about Sykes?”

  “He doesn't give a stuff!”

  “It's still an awful risk to go outside.”

  “We're meeting at midnight,” I reply.

  “I know you are.”

  “So be in the courtyard next to the rose garden.”

  “No,” she replies, “you can do what you like, but we're meeting in the library.”

  “What? No! The courtyard next to -”

  “Millicent has already arranged everything,” she continues matter-of-factly. “We're meeting in the library because that's where the books are. Millicent thinks we need to use a particular set of spells if we're to have any hope of contacting Abigail.”

  “Spells?” I reply, aghast by such a word. “Like magic?”

  “I don't know, but Millicent does and she's the smartest one here.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says everyone. She's already picked out the book we're going to use.”

  “We don't need books,” I reply, horrified by the idea. “Not the books in that place, anyway. Do you really think old Kane would've allowed anything even halfway useful into his library? The books in there are all about things like God and Jesus and whatnot. What we need is something a little earthier, something that'll actually get the job done.”

  “Millicent says she knows.”

  “Millicent doesn't know anything! She's silly!”

  I wait for her to say something, but after a moment I have to sigh.

  “Why can't everyone just agree?” I mutter finally.

  “What you mean is, why can't everyone just do what you want to do?”

  “But I'm right!”

  “You don't know that!”

  “I do!” I hiss, filled with frustration. “If we want to contact the spirit of someone who recently died, we have to go to the hallowed ground of the old oak tree and reach out to her from there!”

  “Says who?”

  “Says common sense!”

  “You don't know what you're talking about,” she replies, and I hear her rolling away onto her side, turning her back to me in the process. “I'm going to the library. That's where anyone with any brains'll be.”

  Letting out a grunt of frustration, I struggle to my feet and make my way around her bed. Sod Prudence and Millicent, I don't need them.

  “Who put you in charge anyway, Ivy?” Prudence asks. “No-one, that's who.”

  “Go to the stinking library, then,” I whisper. “See if I care.”

  “We will!”

  “Good!”

  Heading to the next bed, I drop down and nudge Sylvia's arm. “Are you -”

  “Yes,” she says wearily, as if she's been waiting for me, “of course I'm awake. You're not exactly keeping the noise down, you know. I was listening to that whole bally argument.”

  “We're all meeting at the -”

  “The chapel.”

  “No!” I hiss. “The courtyard by the -”

  “We're meeting at the chapel,” she says firmly. “We're going at midnight. The chapel's the obvious place to go if we want to contact Abigail's spirit.”

  “Why?”

  “It's where God will hear our prayers most clearly.”

  “This isn't about God,” I point out, “it's about Abigail.”

  “And you're an idiot,” she replies. “Did you know that, Ivy Jones? You're always telling other people what to do but you don't have the first idea. You're an idiot, and the only thing you'll achieve at the hanging tree is that you'll catch a cold, maybe even pneumonia, and Mrs. Kilmartin'll most likely spot you out her bedroom window.”

  “She will not!” I hiss. “She'll be asleep! She'll be passed out drunk!”

  “You can't cut God out of this,” Sylvia replies, with that same old holier-than-thou tone that always irritates me so much. “If you want to speak to someone who recently died, you'd best go to somewhere the Lord can hear you that little bit better, otherwise you might as well be praying into the wind.”

  “That's not true and you know it,” I tell her. “Anyway, I thought God was supposed to be everywhere?”

  “He is,” she says cautiously, “but... Well, he's more in churches and chapels, everyone knows that. And that's why I'm going to go to the chapel tonight.”

  “Oh, do what you want,” I mutter, losing patience with her as I struggle to my feet. My back hurts again, sending a creaking pain up through my spine, so I take a moment to steady myself before heading through the darkness on my way to the next bed along. To be honest, I'm starting to wonder why I took it upon myself to organize all of this, because it's not like the others are particularly grateful or cooperative. I don't know what possesses people like Millicent to come up with their ridiculous ideas, but I guess they'll just have to be shown that they're wrong.

  It should be obvious to everyone that we have to go to the oak tree.

  Just as I'm about to reach Winifred's bed, I hear a faint bumping sound in the distance. Looking over at the main door, I wait for a moment before realizing that someone is walking along the corridor. I turn and start making my way back toward my bed in the far corner, but I know I'll never get there in time so I look around in the darkness and then feel my way to the nearest bed. Almost clattering into the iron railing at the foot, I get down onto my hands and knees and shuffle under the bed to hide, just as I hear the door creaking open.

  A shaft of light shows through from the corridor, with a figure silhouetted in the doorway.

  I wait, my heart pounding in my chest. I know Mrs. Kilmartin won't be fooled if she comes in and looks at the beds, but if she just peers through the door
there's a good chance she'll just see my bedsheets arranged in a vague human pile and she'll leave. It's rather unusual for the old bat to come by at this time of night, since she's usually drunk in her chair by now, but it's not unheard of for her to stir like this. Whatever, I'm not too worried; she's probably seeing double by now, and I wouldn't be surprised if she's swaying a little.

  I hold my breath for a moment, and finally I hear the door swinging shut, followed by the sound of her heading back to the stairs. Sure enough, her footsteps sound unsteady. She was just performing an extra set of rounds before retiring for the night, to sleep until morning in her chair with a bottle of brandy clutched in her hands. Sozzled old thing, she should be ashamed.

  “Ivy,” Prudence hisses suddenly, “will you please get out from under my bed? You're being a terrible nuisance and I'm trying to get some sleep!”

  “Oh bog off,” I mutter, crawling back out and getting to my feet. “Do you think I wanted to be under your stinking bed, anyway?”

  I shuffle through the darkness, counting the beds I pass until I get to the corner and lower myself down onto my own sheets. I'm cold enough to shiver, so I quickly climb under the covers and blow into my hands to warm myself up. Reaching to my belly, I slip my hand beneath my night-dress and feel the smooth, stretched skin covering my bump. It's not kicking right now, which is good. Every time it kicks, I'm reminded that there's a real live person growing in there, and that in a few months' time it'll be taken out and sent far away.

  In the distance, the grandfather clock strikes eleven. One hour to go, and then it's time to go to the oak tree and contact Abigail.

  II

  “Wait up!” Catherine hisses as we waddle across the moonlit lawn. “I can't go as fast as you!”

  Glancing back at her, I can't help but smile at the sight of her hurrying along with her giant, swollen belly. She's much further gone than Sissy, Wendy and I, in fact she might even be the furthest along now that Abigail's not here, and there's something rather comical about the way she's having to hurry while keeping her legs wide apart.

  “You can do it,” I tell her, seeing my own breath in the cold night air. “Nearly there now.”

  “I wish I had something on my feet,” Sissy complains as we continue to make our way toward the oak tree. “The snow is so cold and wet.”

  “It's good for you,” I reply.

  “How is it good for you?” Wendy asks skeptically.

  “I don't know, it just is. Now hurry up!”

  It takes a couple more minutes for us to reach the tree, a twisted and gnarly old thing with few leaves. Rising up high above us but leaning heavily to one side, the tree is said to have been used in days gone by for hanging thieves and highwaymen who were caught in the area, although I don't know whether those stories are true or whether they're just another local embellishment. Either way, as I lean against the side of the tree and look up at its knotted trunk curling above, I can't help thinking that it's definitely a nice old thing, and I for one have never felt remotely scared out here. The reason for that, I suppose, might be that the land around its base is hallowed on account of it having been blessed once by a priest who believed all those dark stories about the past.

  Hearing someone spluttering and gasping nearby, I turn and smile as I see that poor swollen Catherine has finally caught up.

  “My ankles hurt,” she whines. “I think maybe I should have stayed in bed. It's the middle of winter, for God's sake. We shouldn't be out in the snow like this!”

  “Nonsense,” I reply. “We all need to be here.”

  “What about them?” Sissy asks, looking past me.

  Turning, I see that Emily and half a dozen other girls are waddling as quickly as they can manage past the far end of the main building, heading toward the lake.

  “What about them?” I reply after a moment. “Emily's got some stupid idea that you have to be next to a body of water if you're going to contact the dead. Talk about silly, eh?”

  When I turn to Sissy, Catherine and Wendy, I can't help noticing that they look pretty miserable right now. In fact, the three of them hardly constitute the small army of girls I hoped to bring out here tonight, but I suppose I must make do with what I can get.

  “Prudence and some of the others went to the library,” Wendy points out.

  “Prudence can go do one,” I mutter.

  “But it's warm in there,” she adds, her teeth shivering slightly. “I think I might go and join them instead.”

  “Just because it's warm?”

  “Sorry,” she says, turning and waddling back across the lawn. “It's too cold out here.”

  “Come back!” I hiss, but she keeps going and I let out a sigh as I realize there's no point arguing with her. Turning to Sissy and Catherine again, I realize that they'll just have to be enough. “Do either of you intend to desert the cause,” I ask, “just because it's a little nippy out here?”

  “Where are they going?” Catherine asks, pointing past me.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I spot Mary and a few other girls waddling toward the line of trees. After a moment, however, they stop and ease themselves down onto snowy ground, and I watch as they start holding hands.

  “Oh, you know they're like,” I mutter, turning back to Catherine. “They're into fairies and all that rubbish. They're probably asking the king of the pixies to put them in touch with Abigail.”

  “Do you think it'll work?” Sissy asks.

  “Of course it won't!”

  “But this will?” Catherine continues, looking up at the tree. “I don't like it here. I've always felt funny when I come close to this thing.”

  “You look funny too,” I tell her.

  “Why do we even have to contact Abigail anyway?” she asks. “I mean, she's dead, so shouldn't we let her rest in peace? If she's gone to heaven, there's no way we can get in touch with her.”

  “That's why we have to do it tonight,” I point out, unable to hide my frustration at her lack of understanding. “That way, we have a better chance of getting in touch before she's taken up.”

  “But why do it at all?”

  “Because...” I take a deep breath, feeling a pang of regret in my chest as I remember the very last time I saw Abigail, when she was being led away to Kane's office. “Because it's not right what happened to her,” I continue finally, “and because we have to know the truth. You heard the way Kane talked about Abigail after dinner when he told us all what had happened. He seemed annoyed that he had to acknowledge her existence at all.”

  “But he said God -”

  “God didn't kill her,” I say firmly, annoyed by Catherine's willingness to believe everything Kane tells us. “I spoke to her just a couple of days ago, and she was fighting fit and talking non-stop about her baby. She thought she'd come up with a way to make them let her keep it.”

  “They'd never let any of us do that,” Sissy says, her eyes filled with shock. “Would they?”

  “Come on, then,” Catherine says, sounding tired already, “you've brought us out to this sodding tree, Ivy, so how about you tell us what's next?” She looks up at the tree for a moment, and I can see that her whole body is shivering in the cold night air. “How are we going to contact Abigail? By praying really, really hard?”

  “Not by praying, no,” I tell her. “I've got a much better idea.”

  ***

  “We seek the spirit of Abigail Cartwright,” I announce calmly, with my eyes closed as I sit cross-legged on a cushion that I've placed on the frozen ground. I'm shivering too now, but I don't want to show it. “We ask that she comes to us. Abigail, if you hear my words now, offer us a sign.”

  I wait, hoping that this time Abigail might make her presence known. I'm holding a lock of her hair in my right hand, and I'm convinced that this physical link to her is going to be enough to attract the attention of her spirit. I'm not entirely sure what's supposed to happen next, but I suppose her voice should reach out to us at some point and start answering
our questions. After a moment, however, I realize the only sound comes from Sissy's stuffed nose as she sits next to me.

  “Do you have to do that?” I ask, opening one eye to look at her.

  She opens an eye. “What?”

  “The way you're breathing,” I continue. “It's annoying.”

  “Sorry. I think I'm getting a cold.”

  “What the hell are they doing now?” Catherine mutters.

  Turning to follow her gaze, I see that Mary and her friends are walking round and round in circles, while holding hands. After a moment, I realize I can hear Mary leading a chant to someone named Oberon while occasionally invoking Abigail's name.

  “That's never going to work,” I mutter.

  “And this is?” Catherine replies. “Face it, Ivy. There's half a dozen different groups out tonight, each of them convinced that they and they alone know how to get in touch with Abigail's spirit and bring her back, and the truth is that it's all guesswork. It's like some kind of bloody ridiculous competition!”

  “You shouldn't use words like that,” Sissy tells her.

  “Oh, rot!” she continues. “I'll bloody well use whatever words I like! The truth is, and I know this is hard for us all to accept, but the truth is that Abigail is gone. She was here, but she's not anymore, and her spirit isn't wandering around waiting for one of us to find a way to get in touch. Kane said -”

  “Kane was lying,” I hiss, before feeling a shudder pass through my chest. I look around, just to make sure that no-one untrustworthy heard me saying such an awful and punishable thing. “Kane was lying,” I continue, turning back to Catherine and Sissy. “He says whatever he thinks will make him sound good. He doesn't care about anything except making himself seem better in the eyes of God, but do you know what? If God is real, there's no way he'd be fooled by all that bullshit!”

  “Quiet!” Sissy replies, and when I turn to her I can see that she's blushing. “You can't say things like that! Really, you'll get us into even more trouble!”

  “Sometimes I think Jeremiah Kane is a complete charlatan,” I continue, looking toward the main schoolhouse. “Sometimes I think he set up this school not as a place to help girls like us, but as a place to abuse and torture people who can't fight back. Sometimes I think it's wrong that he's allowed to get away with half the things that happen at Beacon's Ash.”